


you can take my heart (if yours won't beat)

by ambitioncutsusdown



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (and 3.12 as well), M/M, Stisaac Week, alternative of 3.11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambitioncutsusdown/pseuds/ambitioncutsusdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But Stiles keeps wondering, keeps going back and forth. Was he right? Every time he looked at Isaac and recognized something familiar, something he’s searched for but never found, not even in Scott who is practically the other half of his soul. Or was it all imagination. Like he used to picture his mother every night before he fell asleep, imagining she was telling him a little story, a little something to get through the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you can take my heart (if yours won't beat)

**Author's Note:**

> written for stisaac week; prompt by [stilaheyy](stilaheyy.tumblr.com): "A missing moment when they come out of the ice bath"  
> goes with [this](http://ambitioncutsusdown.tumblr.com/post/66581507825/stisaac-week-a-missing-moment-when-they-come) post

It’s not just cold. It’s like he’s inhaling ice, like all the air has frozen, disappeared. It’s like he’ll never be warm again, despite what Deaton is telling them.

He didn’t even notice it at first, that he was freezing from the inside out, but after the initial shock was worn off, it’s starting to show. He can’t stop shivering, but moving only makes him remember how cold his body is, how his limbs have turned to, well, ice.

Allison is doing pretty much the same as he is. Scott seems a little better. Must be the werewolf healing or heating or power, Stiles thinks. Or maybe Scott is just better at this than they are, a little bit stronger, more determined. More of an alpha.

He tries not to think about it too much, because there are more important things to focus on. Like how they’ll stop Deucalion, how they’ll save their parents. What they need to do.

Now is not the time to sit down and have a little chat, neither is it the moment to think about what just happened, in the water. What happened to them and what they’ve seen.

How they felt.

Stiles’ eyes keep going over to Isaac, but he never manages to catch his gaze, which maybe is for the best because Stiles doesn’t know what Isaac’ll see on his face.

Or what he might see on Isaac’s.

Both ideas are frightening, so all Stiles can do is listen to Deaton and Scott as they come up with a plan – and listen to those who won’t agree with it.

But Stiles keeps wondering, keeps going back and forth. Was he right? Every time he looked at Isaac and recognized something _familiar_ , something he’s searched for but never found, not even in Scott who is practically the other half of his soul. Or was it all imagination. Like he used to picture his mother every night before he fell asleep, imagining she was telling him a little story, a little something to get through the night.

Was it just that? Was Isaac nothing more than a ghost, a presence that wasn’t really there, no matter how much Stiles wishes it was?

He can’t tell for sure.

All he knows is that Allison speaks up, still trembling from the cold, and asks if they can have more blankets first and maybe a few minutes to warm up, and seconds after Deaton nods, Isaac is at his side with a blanket, wrapping it around Stiles’ shoulders in a way that reminds Stiles of a parent and makes him feel small.

“Thanks,” he mutters, turns away from Isaac to sit down. The extra blanket is nice though, because the one he had is completely soaked. He probably should put on different clothes as well if he wants to warm up, because his are still wet, clinging to his skin in the most uncomfortable ways, and also still cold.

He wonders if the cold will ever go away, or if it’s something that’s nestled deep inside of him. Maybe what he’s feeling isn’t just from the ice bath. Maybe it’s that darkness that’s already inside of him, making it harder to breathe, to stop shaking. Maybe it’s his heart that’ll never be warm again.

“I can hear you thinking.”

Stiles snaps out of his thoughts and looks up at Isaac, who’s looking both worried and a little apprehensive. “I can’t help it,” he replies with a sigh.

“I’ve brought you some fresh clothes,” Isaac says, then points over his shoulder. “Scott’s still discussing stuff with Deaton. Allison’s changing as well in the next room – Lydia’s with her,” he explains, even though Stiles didn’t ask.

“Thanks,” he mutters instead, taking the clothes Isaac is holding up.

He sheds his blankets, letting them fall to the floor, and immediately regrets it because it’s like the temperature is going below zero, like he’s made of ice, but Stiles clenches his jaw and continues undressing. He tugs off his shirt and it’s only then he becomes aware of Isaac’s gaze, only then that he remembers Isaac is still in the room, only then that he notices how Isaac is looking at him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he tries to look and not look at the same time.

But Stiles honestly can’t be bothered anymore so he just continues, toying with the opening of his jeans for a moment, fumbling because he can’t get the zipper down – his fingers still too frozen and uncoordinated.

Apparently Isaac takes that as Stiles being shy instead of clumsy, and quicky starts stammering. “I’ll, err. Wait outside. Yeah. See you… later.”

“Isaac,” Stiles stops him, ‘cause there’s no way he’s getting out of his jeans on his own. He looks up, rather sheepishly (of course this can only happen to him, _of course_ ) and clears his throat. “A little help?”

The blush on Isaac’s face is unmistakable as he walks closer and bats Stiles’ hands aside, but there’s a certain determination in his expression, one that makes Stiles shiver for an entire different reason. One that makes Stiles want to cup Isaac’s jaw and bury his face in Isaac’s throat.

It doesn’t take Isaac very long to unbutton Stiles’ jeans and to drag down his zipper, the sound obnoxiously loud in the further silent room. They keep still for a few seconds until Isaac abruptly pulls his hands away again. “So… there you go,” he breathes out, his voice low, which immediately makes everything feel more intimate.

Or maybe that’s because they’re standing so close together, maybe it’s because Isaac is staring at him with those big, blue eyes, or maybe it’s because Stiles can hear his breathing and how it’s slightly uneven, a little rougher than usual. Maybe it’s because Isaac is licking his lips and those curls look so inviting. Maybe it’s because Stiles is still a little bit out of it after being drowned. Or maybe it’s because Stiles has already looked at Isaac like this before, like he’d do anything to get to know him, to disappear into his skin and never return.

“Did you feel like you’d never get warm again? When you had to do this?” he whispers, barely audible for human ears.

“Like there was no reason to ever get warm again,” Isaac replies.

Stiles can feel Isaac’s hand on his hip, and it’s so sudden, so _hot_ , that it makes him hiss. Isaac uses that hand to pull Stiles closer until he can do what he’s wanted for so long.

His head fits perfectly under Isaac’s chin, face tucked away in the crook of his neck. He can hear Isaac’s throat working to swallow, and when he inhales he can smell cloth and soap and _warmth_.

“Thanks,” he whispers and gets to reply, not until at least ten minutes has passed and Isaac slowy releases him again from his cocoon of warmth.

This time it’s not Stiles’ imagination when he feels soft lips brush his temple, when he knows Isaac is lingering and when he feels long fingers trace up and down his side. “Any time, Stiles,” Isaac says, and Stiles knows the truth behind that.


End file.
